Only Yesterday and a Dream or Two Away
by SerenaArythusa
Summary: Parodying the tragic past of Yami Bakura, Ryou has a dream of Ancient Egypt and finds his yami as a child and perfectly happy, and much to his surprise the kid follows him back to the waking world. His yami's in denial of recognizing his younger self...
1. Angst Minus Abuse

This, in case any of you are wondering, is a completely redone and rearranged version of 'Yami Bakura, Sit!' with the same basic backbone, a twisted version of a popular spinoff-Yami Bakura's past, and younger, self. Ironically, this was-and still is-intended to be an angst story. Problem is, I am not Anne Rice dark writer, and there is no plausible theory in the known universe that would justify my inserting a good portion of wry humor into fanfictions from Takahashi's increasingly historically incorrect Yuugiou.

Do tell me if this goes down well with you, through review, forum, IM, e-mail, or otherwise. I've been spoiled by the popularity of my other humor fanfictions, and am not sure where the line between 'I like' and 'I don't like' is located, exactly.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yuugiou, it's characters, or plot line, nor do I particularly want to. I do, however, own that little apostrophe in the 'its' that I stuck in there for no particular reason, only succeeding to make the phrase grammatically incorrect. 

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Act I: Seeking refuge of a cliche

Bakura Ryou stared down one of the picture frames in his soul room. One of the doors was his, leading to a room filled with toys and teddy bears and a whole bunch of the other things that he thought he had gotten rid of a long time ago. The other, his yami's, and it looked like it needed a new paint job. But for now he had to ignore that-he had more important things to do. No, wait. No, he really didn't have anything to do. Oh, spit. 

The Millennium Ring, also known throughout history as _that thing_, _the shiny thing_, _the all-powerful and most definitely destructive thing, _and several other names ending in _thing_, is famous for being crammed with more power than a Tokyo bullet train is crammed with people at rush hour and having more dark energies in it than there is caffeine energy (which is often proven to be much more powerful) in Starbucks and The Coffee Bean combined. It also holds the soul of Yami Bakura, and, occasionally, Bakura.

This, his host Bakura explains, it not only utter nonsense but completely irrational and impossible by all the means of space and time. And yet here he was, inside the Ring. His yami was currently in control of his body, which he had semi-patiently explained was really his body reincarnated. Bakura disagreed-after all, they were different nationalities, and considering that, their physical resemblance really didn't compute.

He heard his yami enter into his soulroom-just as loud an entrance as ever. His dark side took one look at him (Bakura cringed), picked him up by the collar and half-shoved him out of his soulroom and out into the real world. "Your turn, runt." Bakura heard him say. That was SUCH a Yami Bakura thing to say.

"Ah, well," he muttered dejectedly. At least he knew that his dark side wasn't off killing people. Or cutting himself. Or something. In much the same mood he got into bed (his real bed, not the one in his soulroom) and fell asleep. This, he prompted the spirits of the netherworld, would be a pretty good time for some divine intervention.

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Act II: Unorthodox Egyptian Flashback

It was one of those dreams that Bakura always felt he was telling from the third person. He wasn't in the dream himself, or at least not at the moment, but apparently he did have eyes enough to see what was going on. The scene was that of Egypt, definitely near the Nile. Ah, good, he concluded, there was no doubt of what would happen next-see Yami Bakura as a tortured little child, sympathize, go through a sob scene or two, huggy kissy we're-all-right-we'll-make-it-through . . . bada-bing-bada-bang, you're in bed by eight. Good strategy.

Now he had himself a lot more confidence on how this dream was going to end up, he began looking for a bite-sized Yami Bakura.

What he found was a lilypad. Yami Bakura was not a lilypad.

It, the lilypad, that is, was drifting rather lazily down the Nile, with a reed sticking curiously out from one side. The thing was that it zig-zagged from side to side every once in a while, and then little air bubbles came up.

It went about its way for about half an hour. Then it started to rain. There came a few shouts from the other side of the river, followed by a good amount of relatively mindless commotion. The lilypad stopped dead. The reed disappeared, and a frog jumped up from under it. Ribit. 

Still no Yami Bakura. No whips, no yells, no nothing. Bakura began to wonder if this dream really had a point to it.

He suddenly became aware of himself-that he was standing in a sort of doorway with no door to it, and that just enough rain was soaking through to drench him a while from now.

"Oh!" said a voice behind him. "Sky water!"

Bakura whirled around. No one. And it was such a pleasant sort of voice, too. Seconds later, he felt a tap on the back, and turned to face the rain again. Still nothing.

"Oyahoo!" the same voice called.

Bakura groaned. "Alright. I give up. Who are you, anyway?"

"The question is, who are YOU?" said the voice lazily. Bakura heard a thump behind him and looked back. Swinging upside-down on one of the planks of the house's roof was a boy, a white-haired one no more than eleven. He had dark skin and his right cheek was scarred up rather badly, but he had a funny little grin on his face nonetheless, and he was chewing an apple.

There was something seriously messed up with this dream, thought Bakura. "Yami?" he said experimentally, momentarily forgetting that whatever his dark's past had been, he probably wouldn't know what he meant.

"Yami? No, he en't here." he said, shrugging. "Sounds foreign to me. You might try looking a few city states down-they've got some awful weird names there. I'm Bakura, by the way. And who're you?" He jumped down and stood right side up to shake hands. "Reckon you're a river sprite, by the looks of it. Did you bring the storm about?"

"Oh, no, I'm not, actually." Bakura said, a bit shaken by the boy's enthusiastic welcome. "I'm Baku- Ryou." He decided, for the Egyptian's sake, to go by his first name for the time being. After all, by that time, last names weren't an option, and he wanted to keep historical accuracy.

"Oh, really?" Bakura said. "So, are you coming or going?"

"Excuse me?"

"Coming or going? There're only two reasons anyone'd come to this town-to go through it on the way to the city or to stay. So which are you doing?"

"Ah . . . I'd like to say neither." he admitted.

"Really, then?" said the boy, a bit suspicious, and he snorted. "Don't really matter what you'd like to say, it's what you are sayin'. So what's it gonna be, then?"

"Ah . . . ano. . . ." he stuttered. Very Japanese sounding, that. "In which case, I'm staying."

Bing, right answer. "No shit? So, who're ya staying with?"

Dong, wrong answer. "Ah-"

Bakura cocked his head to the side. "Well, wherever you're going it's going to have to wait. You don't get much rain a'tall around these parts and Mom'll kill me if I let anyone disturb one grain of wheat. Mind staying here for a while?"

"N-no, of course not!" Bak-no, wait. . . . Ryou managed, and almost immediately he felt himself being hurried into the room near a large table.

"Wait right 'ere, kay?" Bakura said and dashed off to a room to the right.

Ryou was in shock. He was greatly afraid that his mind had yet to catch up with the situation and not nearly ready to react accordingly. Surely there had to be two Bakuras in the town-there had to be another white haired kid there with the same name, there just had to be. In any event, his yami had plenty of explaining to do. This dream was majorly screwed up. "Come on," he willed himself, "Wake up, wake up, come on, it's just a dream. I'll realize just how dumb it was in a few hours and forget it all. . . ." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Pretty please?"

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And with very little rhyme or reason, he did. There was a book on the floor he must have tried to read before he had fallen asleep, and sun was streaming through the window in his room. There was also something annoyingly heavy on his chest, but he was too tired to open his eyes and push it off. It was probably something his yami left there.

Half an hour like this. Cat-stretch yawn sigh turn over-except that he couldn't move. Finally, Ryou cracked open an eye to see what it was that was weighing him down so-

And a pair of big, brown eyes stared back.

"Quee?" said Bakura curiously, leaning closer.

"Gah!" Ryou gasped, jumping ten feet into the air. 

"Whatcha doin'?" inquired the eleven-year-old, sitting down Indian-style.

"I-I was sleeping." he panted, still shaken. "Wait-how did you get here? You were in my dream."

"I don't know, really." said the boy nonchalantly. "One moment I'm in my house helping you, minding my own business, and suddenly I'm yanked into this bizarre room. It's really quite distressing." He faked a tear, but gave up on sadness. "Hey, you look a lot like me, don't you?"

"You realized!" he enthused sarcastically. "But now that we've got ourselves relatively straightened out, we've got to do something about you. With luck on my side-which it usually isn't by the way-we should be able to keep you out of sight before-"

"Oh!" Bakura interrupted, rushing over to Ryou's dresser. He held up the Millennium Ring and toyed with the ends. "This is so pretty! Where'd you get it-ah!-" The Ring had begun to glow, and Bakura dropped it immediately, drawing back. "It's alive!"

The Ring glowed a bit more as Yami Bakura appeared in their midst-a temporary form, not at all good for beatings, but it was good enough for threats and rants, and that was exactly what he had been planning to do. "Ryou, what the hell did you-" But then he spotted Bakura, his younger self, and he cut off. "What . . . the . . . the hell?"

"-before my yami finds out." Ryou finished hopelessly.

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Well? Did that make more sense or what? And do help support my team, Kuroi Star, at Battle City (the only all Bakura site team ^^) and as I promised anyone who voted for us last round, I'll get up two more manga chapter scans and two more screenshotted episodes (I'm still working on doing it to make up for my promise last round. . . !) 


	2. Getting in touch with your inner child

Ryou was getting prepared for something that began with an 'a,' ended with an 'e,' and had in the middle 'b,''u,' and 's.'

This preparation was cut short by the little Bakura dashing to his yami and getting him in a headlock. "Stay away!" the young Egyptian barked. He was talking to Ryou. "And whatever you do, don't eat him! Once this kid from the flat next door found one of these and we haven't seen him since."

It took Yami Bakura a hilariously long time to pry himself from the grasp of someone about a head shorter than he. "Do I look like a plant to you?" he snapped, as soon as he was as far as possible from himself.

"Oh," his younger self said dully, "Y-ya, that makes more sense now. You talk." A pause. "Who are you, again?"

The yami brushed himself off, very indignant. "Well, that depends. Who are you?"

Ryou wasn't sure if he should tell them or not.

"Erm . . . excuse me. . . . Yami, could you come over here for a second?"

"Ne?"

Ryou sighed. "Yami, how many times do I have to tell you? It's 'nani.' 'Nani' means 'what,' not 'ne.'"

". . . . ne?"

"Oh, just come over here!" And, much to his surprise, he did. Ryou was at first so surprised at this fact that he was lost for words, but then he realized that the yami was probably doing so on account that closer to Ryou equaled further from Bakura, his amazement ceased. "Don't tell me you don't know who that kid is. . . !" he whispered.

Yami Bakura snorted. "You're acting as if he's wearing a name tag. How in the hell did he get in, anyway?"

Ryou ignored that last question, partially because he didn't know the answer himself, but mainly because he was desperately trying to make his next words sound at least partially sane. "W-well, doesn't he look . . . familiar?"

"No." And this he said flatly. "Should he?"

Another bout of silence from the boy was rudely interrupted by a chomping sound and the fact that his yami was now yanked back several feet by his younger self. Now, Ryou was less than used to dealing with situations as such, but he did own a small Maltese poodle when he was about ten, and trying to convince himself that this was experience enough to handle things, yelled, "Down, boy, down!"

Though pretty damn ineffective, this did manage to get the little (?) boy's attention. Bakura glared dejectedly at Ryou for a second with a very I'm-just-trying-to-help aura about him, and spit out Yami Bakura's hand.

"What I was trying to say was. . . ." Not willing to pause and give Bakura a chance to bite again, Ryou let out a string of words that, he was sure, made a lot less sense than what he originally attempted to portray. "You idiot! He's you as a kid; don't you get it already?"

The expression that came across Yami Bakura's face was something between hysterical and disbelieving. His teeth were also gritted, which made it all the more difficult to say, "Excuse me?"

"You! Him! Do I have to show you manually?" His previous statement seemed to have paralyzed both the Yami Bakuras from head to foot so Ryou took the liberty to turn them to face each other, with uncharacteristic (not to mention un-Christian) swearing.

Yami Bakura's eyes swivelled from Bakura to Ryou in an instant. "Hey, you know that a-b-u-s-e thing you were thinking about earlier?" He paused. "Hold that thought for a moment, okay? You!" He abruptly turned his attention back to his younger self. He grabbed hold of the Egyptian's shoulders and backed him away from him as far as a yami possibly could. "Get. Out. Of. Here. Right. This. Instant." He might have continued his threat, but he ran out of space to back into.

It was a while before he realized that the Egyptian probably didn't understand a word he said. Yami Bakura had clearly gotten overused to speaking Japanese. Even when he had taken him by surprise that morning, Ryou had addressed Bakura in the best Egyptian he could muster, and even then communication was rusty. This, of course, was probably due to the fact that Ryou's Egyptian was hardly anything to speak of, but it wasn't like he really got a chance to practice it, with modern Egyptians speaking Arabic and all. Then there was Malik who got all cocky with his Japanese accent (who knows where he picked that up. Had he ever even seen a Japanese person before the whole Yugi shebang?), which was even weirder. But, to summarize, his grasp on ancient languages on a day-to-day basis sucked. Especially since Egyptians didn't have any vowels that scientists could identify, and the Japanese . . . had yet to understand the separation of constantans.

Bakura did understand, though, that he had been given an order, and reacted accordingly. He undid Yami Bakura's grip in half the time he had established it, and began pushing his elder self in the opposite direction. "You. Get. Out. Of. Here. Right. This. Instant." he mirrored.

"Fascinating," Ryou trilled, "I'll have to record something about this. I'll be right back, I have to- Rather, I have to- wait. . . ." He took a deep breath to recollect himself. Then, in Egyptian, "Okay, we've established that you are definitely not a slave. But what happened to the whole meekness thing? Weren't you discriminated against as a child, for the . . . hair and all? Okay, so maybe you don't have the pale skin like lots of people think you have, but still- oh." The "oh" was a sign that Bakura had personally taken measures to quiet the funny white skinned boy (can we see a division of races here?) by clamping his jaw shut. 

Bakura then turned to Yami Bakura, easily more passive than before. Much to his own surprise, Ryou had considerable problems understanding what he said. He could tell it was Egyptian -there was no doubting that, but it did seem quite different than what he had learned. Yami Bakura replied briefly in the same Egyptian, then said, in Japanese, "He says, 'Why does he talk like some crackpot old priest?'" He laughed, though darkly. "Really. Those hieroglyphics were written by professional scribes. Do you really think . . . normal people talked like that. Colloquial, if you will, though judging by the way you usually talk in any language, you're not familiar with the term, ne?"

"You seem to be very picky over one word when you still won't see what's obvious." Ryou retorted.

"I know he's . . . he's me!" the spirit snapped back. "And now I am actively trying to forget that, right after I get him out of my sight."

"Ohhh . . . I understand." Ryou murmured.

"Ohhh . . . I understand." repeated Bakura excitedly, with no idea what Yami Bakura had said.

"Ohhh . . . shut up, both of you." Yami Bakura pouted. "Really, for someone who's taking four language classes at once, you're hopeless at being a linguist. Let me do this. . . ."

"So you admit that this boy is you?" Ryou interrupted. He got no reply, though he knew the answer.

"Ya. Mi. Ba. Ku. Ra." the spirit instructed, indicating himself. "Yami Bakura."

"Ya -mi?" Bakura repeated tentatively. "Yami . . . Bakura."

"Yes, yes, that's it -No, wait. Wrong syllable! It's BA-ku-ra, not Ba-KU-ra!"

"Ba-KU-ra." said Bakura stubbornly.

"And this," Ryou said, "is how we can see two different cultures clashing. I still can't believe that Bakura could be the name for an Egyptian boy. Honestly. . . ." He took in another deep breath. A good oxygen supply was supposed to help with depression, the doctor has said. "In any account, do keep at it. It'll take quite a while, but I think we can eventually get him so he can at least keep up with casual conversations in Japan."

"People coming over, really?" Bakura asked, clearly this time, causing Ryou to fall back in his chair.

"I could actually understand that!" he said, half choking from sudden shock of being able to understand the boy's Egyptian. "How did you -? Since when -?"

"Oh, I can." Bakura said in a matter-of-fact way. "Just don't like to. Only people who talk like that are the Pharaoh and those freakish servants of his. You know, with the palace an' all." Even at a young age, his yami seemed to possess the same views on royalty. Interesting.

Even if Ryou knew exactly what to say, he couldn't respond because at that moment, the doorbell rang.

Yugi's voice was heard, muffled by the door.

"Oh, great." Yami Bakura groaned.

"Well, at least something's happening that should in fanfictions. Whenever something bad happens between us, they always have to come to visit. Of course, it's usually something weird like you losing your memory or me getting beat up or. . . ."

"You think this is ordinary?" the spirit of the Millennium Ring demanded, pointing at Bakura. Yugi's voice was getting louder. "Do something about him." he hissed before getting up to answer the door. He could hear Ryou coaching Bakura on basic Japanese culture in the living room as he turned the knob:

"Now, whatever you do, make it known that you are definitely not Japanese. Remember, this is anime -no one really looks Japanese if they're an anime character, even if they live in Japan, so that means that you'll have to use more than looks to prove you're Middle Eastern. That means to be just as shaky about the language as you always are. They'll get it. Alright, now: If they tell you something that sounds like a request, remember to say 'hai' before going off."

"Hai?"

"No, no, no, no, no. You have to make it more abrupt sounding. Hai!"

"Hai! . . . ?"

"No, that's a Japanese's woman's 'hai.' You don't want to sound gay now, do you? Say it sharply now. HAI!"

"HAI!"

"That's it! You got it! HAI!"

"HAI!"

Ryou seemed pleased, but he knew time was against him, so he picked up the pace a bit. "If it's just an ordinary question, just nod and answer "ah." None of the abrupt stuff, very polite. And at random intervals during the conversation, make sure to go, "ne," and "so desu ne" so they know you're still listening. Right . . . that's enough for now. Now, get out there, kay? I'll be right with you."

"HAI!" Bakura answered cheerfully, scampering off.

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I have this sinking feeling that most of that Japanese was extremely Japanese-suburb-San Franciscan-style Japanese. I'm . . . what? Third generation from Japan on one side? Go me. . . . I do that 'ne?' thing that Yami Bakura does. Drives Mum crazy. 

I'm trying to imagine what colloquial Egyptian sounded like. [pause] I anticipate when I get to start writing about Little Brother. [Readers of Yami Bakura Divided by Confusion Equals Algebra might know the doggie.] Dogs=good. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



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